


powerful (with a little bit of tender)

by weekend_conspiracy_theorist



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: F/F, Honeymoon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 07:12:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19785841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weekend_conspiracy_theorist/pseuds/weekend_conspiracy_theorist
Summary: The bond between them thrums with the sorts of quiet, passive love, of an earnest devotion, which can only be heard when the world is this still, this silent, when they both tiptoe into their own versions of meditation.





	powerful (with a little bit of tender)

The line of T'Pring’s back is straight and long, elegant in the misty morning light that creeps through the empty window frames of the modest cottage. Heat slips inside as well, blanketing the room and spiralling Nyota’s thoughts along a simple track of lethargy. She doesn’t move from the bed, flat on her stomach and legs twisted in the cotton sheets, and simply watches.

T'Pring’s chest rises and falls almost imperceptibly in her meditation. Her long black hair cascades in a gentle wave down her back, over the thin fabric of her tunic. There has never been a more poignant moment in her life, Nyota thinks as she watches her. Not her assignment on the _Enterprise_ , not her various promotions, not even their wedding, not 36 hours prior. The bond between them thrums with the sorts of quiet, passive love, of an earnest devotion, which can only be heard when the world is this still, this silent, when they both tiptoe into their own versions of meditation.

_REET REET_.

Nyota’s eyes flutter shut as her lip twists up in disgust. For the love of–

She reaches for the side table, craning to get her comm into her grasp without moving from the bed. “I’m on my honeymoon,” she says into it, flatly, without listening to whatever her temporary shipside replacement has to say, and snaps it shut. She considers it for a moment- hardy and strong metal designed to take an away mission’s beating, buffed to a shining gold color which will stand out sharply against the close cropped brown lawn- and then tosses it out the window to find later.

T'Pring snorts.

“I’ve been a model officer literally since the moment I graduated from the Academy,” Nyota mutters, muffled as she presses her face firmly into the pillow. “I’ve saved the Earth specifically half a dozen times, and other planets too many times to count. Jim can give me the week he fucking promised. Go back to meditating.”

“It could be an emergency,” T'Pring points out. She sounds ever so vaguely chiding, but the only emotion pulsing through their mental link is one of deep seated amusement.

“It’s always an emergency. They don’t need me.”

The amusement deepens, sharp and cutting and just a little bit snide and a little bit proud, at its heart.

“Yeah, I heard it, too.” Nyota yawns so widely that her jaw cracks, the sound swallowed by the heady humidity of the air. “But regardless, they’ll have to manage without me, because I’m here with you. One full week–Jim promised. Spock promised. And since they’re both jackasses who don’t know the meaning of a work-life balance, I made Len and Christine promise to hold them to their promises.”

Whoever had managed to convince Christine Chapel to return to the Enterprise deserved every commendation in the world. A sainthood. A full jug of Scotty’s remarkably smooth bathtub liquor. Nyota hadn’t realized she needed a friend who was a high ranking, take-no-shit female officer until the blonde with the caffeine addiction had filled in for Len at a staff meeting, settling in next to Nyota and proceeding to tear Scotty a new one over his lax approach to workplace safety protocols. It had been best friendship at first sight.

T'Pring slides slowly over top of Nyota, the tip of her nose tracing lightly up her bare spine before taking a gentle turn for the featherlight press of lips against the birthmark on her shoulder. “I can hear it beeping,” she rumbles, still thoroughly entertained, as she finally settles her weight like a blanket over her wife. There is a possessive sort of satisfaction in the motion–like inspires like in Nyota’s own chest.

_Forever_ , she doesn’t need to think, because T'Pring has already murmured it into her skin the night before.

Nyota finds her hand, palms coming together and fingers twining in what is more intimate than a simple Vulcan kiss, the press of fingertip to fingertip, yet more chaste than the deepest of the human kind. “Grab my phaser,” she suggests.

Her own silent laughter shakes her shoulders as T'Pring’s revulsion shoots spikily through her mind. “Do not even joke,” she says sternly.

“I will not deface Starfleet property to continue my honeymoon sex marathon with my wife,” Nyota promises dutifully.

“Your captain shall be glad to hear it.”

Nyota’s laughter breaks out of her this time, high and wild in the morning light. “My first officer will be thrilled to hear it–my _captain_ would have already snapped that thing in pieces!”

She can hear the beeping, too, if she strains for it. That’s as reassuring as anything else, honestly–whatever the situation, it’s pressing enough that they want her attention, but not so pressing they’re just beaming down to get her. Len’s probably already on the bridge, chewing Jim’s ear off for daring to call her, even as Spock silently encourages her temp to keep hailing her.

“We must rise, eventually,” T'Pring tells her. “I still wish to hike the trail today.”

Nearly every square meter of this entire planet belongs to a wildlife habitat, meticulously maintained by its nearest neighbor. This cabin is one of less than a dozen on the surface, each situated by a winding nature path so rugged and minimally maintained as to be hardly recognized for what it is. To venture out onto it means there is the promise of a dozen stunning vistas, of seven waterfalls, of silent companionship as she trails diligently behind, of the way her wife’s trousers tuck into her hiking boots and of those little whisps of hair that escape her braid as the sun rises and then sinks in the sky.

But staying here has the promise of more of that silent, still love humming through her veins, of the taste of T'Pring’s lips and the decadent flavor of the wine chilling down in the cellar. They have a week to enjoy that trail–she wouldn’t mind another day spent right here.

Nyota sighs, trying to sink deeper into the bed, and T'Pring must sense ( _does_ sense, they’re Bonded now) her reluctance to move because she nips teasingly at the nape of Nyota’s neck with those slightly too sharp to be human canines. “We shall not do the whole thing today,” she promises. Curls her free hand about Nyota’s hip and lifts her own weight enough to nudge her into turning over. Her dark eyes, when Nyota reluctantly obliges, are soft and earnest and far too expressive for her solemn face. Her fingertips stroke the curve of Nyota’s jaw, light and reverent. “I shall not stop to take any clippings.”

She hums internally with amusement again, fully aware of the overwhelming fondness in the exasperated, “Better not,” that Nyota mutters with a slight roll of her eyes. Botanists. Obsessive, the lot of them.

“And–” T'Pring’s smirk tugs at the corners of her lips– “I have been told that the third waterfall has a particularly refreshing pool beside which we could take our lunch.”

No image comes through their Bond, just imagined sensation–overheated, sweat slick skin slipping into the water, sweet berries foraged off the side of the path pressed to each other’s lips. The glorious shade of the trees after each bout of brilliant sunlight, and the spattering of freckles taking root on T'Pring’s shoulders and cheeks. Trudging through the door of the cabin on their return, muscles aching with the satisfaction of a well spent day, laughter as they finally tumble into the bed.

“Well,” Nyota says, and it is not so much begrudging as it is breathless, “when you put it like that.”

“Then we are agreed.” T'Pring squeezes her hand and then releases her, rolling out of the bed completely. Her loose tunic falls to mid thigh, and she finds her trousers where they had been flung in the far corner of the room. “Today we hike.”

She is already walking to the other room, clever fingers deftly beginning to braid her waist length hair, as she adds, “On our way out of the cabin you can also locate your communicator and verify the status aboard your ship.”

There is a moment of pure silence.

Nyota stares up at the ceiling, exasperation flooding through her system like ink in water. “I’ve been had,” she tells the ceiling. She imagines she is speaking to the _Enterprise_ , somewhere unseen in the sky high above their heads. “Take us back to the Vulcan elders, I want a divorce.”

T'Pring’s answering laughter- so blindingly rare- is nearly enough to make up for her treachery.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for benicebefunny in the sapphicstartrek femslash exchange!


End file.
